


Something Sweet; Something Bitter

by WilliamLazenbyotch



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Sexsomnia, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 10:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilliamLazenbyotch/pseuds/WilliamLazenbyotch
Summary: In the aftermath of a storm, Lucy's sleepwalking takes an uncharacteristic turn.





	Something Sweet; Something Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fail_fandomanon's 100 words of somnophilia (https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/331210.html?thread=1908121034#cmt1908121034). Rather obviously not 100 words.

Mina woke gradually and by degrees, the black behind her eyelids fading to blue as her senses acclimated to the ever present sound and scent of the Whitby sea. Had she been dreaming? Some sound, cold and musical and impossibly sweet, echoed in her ears, and she thought she recalled an old man's words about the bell for the thirteenth watch... the one that calls only to drowning men as they sink.  
  
Drowning. Her thoughts flitted back to the storm, the wreck, the shimmer of lost light distorting through the beach water. She tried to gasp but could not, and as her eyes fluttered open she saw a pale face pressed against hers, its lips locked around hers as though to drink the very breath from her lungs. Her body stiffened as she realized that Lucy's soft, sleeping body was crushed atop her own, limbs twisted around her own in a desperate embrace.  
  
She thought of waking her and of all the possible shame and mortification that might follow. She thought of trying to quietly disentangle herself, but considered how liable that was to lead to waking. Lucy's thigh pressed between her legs as she thought of other things, of midnights spent whispering beneath the covers of a boarding school bed, of kisses meant in practice for the husbands they did not know they would have, of schoolgirl superstitions, of secrets not spoken but somehow shared.  
  
And so she lay there, unmoving as a statue as the slumbering girl over her continued her unconscious attentions, letting her stilled breath die in the rosewater-tinged sea of Lucy's golden hair.


End file.
